Luna's Beginning Story
by T-REX2
Summary: I admit it. I was Bored. Help me if you want something to happen next bc thats the only way im writing more.Its your story so read and review on what will happen next. please read:(


I awoke from a dead sleep by a loud noise, later finding out that it was the front door slamming. It seems as though this is one of the earliest memories I have, or at least can recall. I can remember my father waking my sister, Lori, and setting us up on the kitchen counter in our pajamas on that chilly May evening. My father, whose voice was calm, and monotone- like told my sister and I that our mother was not coming back that night and for that matter, was probably not coming back at all to our home in the small suburb outside of Buffalo, New York. I remember trying to hide the tears, trying to be strong for Dad, for I could not only see fear in his eyes that night, but sadness, a sadness that I don't believe ever strayed from his strong but gentle face. I knew that nothing would ever be the same.  
  
I was the middle child, the one who had to be a rock. The one that had to stand on her own two feet because there was always the older child or the younger child that needed more attention than I did. I believe it made me strong. In fact, it was a blessing in disguise. I feel that my experiences have given me a brighter outlook on my future and a greater faith in God.  
  
As a child, I have a have a recollection of my mother being there, but always in the background like a picture. She was a pretty woman, average height and build. I don't know that I will ever know what her actual hair color was, it seemed that she always had a different style or color. She was of Irish decent, and the pictures of her as a child led me to believe her hair was a light brown, an autumn-like color with streaks of red and gold running through. I was later to learn that she was a drinker, and I believe that my memories of her are blocked from my head, because I refused to believe that she wasn't anything but a loving mother, the one who care, nurtured and was always there for me as a child.  
  
My sister Lori was 15 months older than I, a mere child of nine years old when my mother walked out the door and never came back. Lori was thinner than I was, and always had lots of friends around her. She loved music and dancing and always would sing in the microphone when given the chance. She was the light in my father's eyes. Lori was their first. She was smart and enchanting. However, there was a light that faded that day in Lori, a light that was always bright and shining and eager to see what the future would hold. I don't remember Lori smiling much after that. She always seemed to be mad at someone or something.  
  
Kelly was the delicate one, the tiny miracle that no one ever thought would ever bear fruit. She was a twin, born premature, only 1lb. 15 oz. I can remember the pictures of her, the ones my parents always bragged about, and how little Kelly was the size of my Daddy's hand. How her diaper covered her entire body. How very fortunate we were that there were no serious complications. She certainly was a miracle. Her twin sister, Kerry Jane, did not survive. I was told there was a small ceremony. Just the family at a place called Holy Angels. It was many months before my mother could bring Kelly home. I remember they tried to force her to eat and gain weight. I remember her always being small but feisty and ready to take on whatever was in front of her. Kelly had just turned four years old when my mother left. Had not even started pre-school yet. What terrible fear she must have felt when mom wasn't there the next morning for breakfast.  
  
The next several months were a whirlwind. Dad was working hard to keep us happy and keep up the household as well. I remember how the teachers in school felt sorry for us, for which we all took advantage of. I remember the neighbors caring for us on those nights when dad would be working late or travelling. Dad had a job that required a lot of travel. He would need to find someone to care for us during the day, to keep up the housework and cook the meals.  
  
We would call them housekeepers, our substitute mother, someone who would be home after school, to cook and clean, to shop and do laundry - I think I remember nine of them in all - the first being Kelly Moran - who was young and pregnant. I remember she had many brothers and sisters and we used to go to her house on the river and play. The others I do not remember so well - one, although I cannot remember her name, taught me and my sister, Lori, how to knit and crochet. We both wanted to make a "poncho" or a cape that slipped over our necks.  
  
We always knew that all the kids in the neighborhood teased us and made fun of us - the Davern girls, whose mom took off and left them alone. I have a vivid memory of my 8th birthday, only a couple days after my mother had left. She never called, sent a card or anything. I was sad, but my dad always tried to make it up to me - and I always let him make me feel better.  
  
It was not long thereafter, that my next serious crisis in my life would occur, our next door neighbors, our best friends, were moving away to Florida. I can remember feeling a terrible void, as if my life would never be the same.  
  
The days turned into years and we always tried to make the best of things, knowing that others were whispering about us. Dad always made us feel like princesses, trying to give us whatever we wanted, within reason, as well as everything we needed. 


End file.
